The Promise of Morning (18 page)

At mid-afternoon Ellie and Maria donned sunbonnets and walked through foot-high corn plants to the place where Harrison labored at his task. Maria was too young to safely handle a hoe around the tender stalks, so Ellie gave her a bushel basket to use to pick up fallen weeds.

Harrison looked at his little sister critically. “Papa never tells us to pick up the weeds.”

Biting her lip, Ellie gazed at her younger son. “Do you want help or not?”

“Yeah.” He kicked at the dirt.

“All right then, be nice to your sister.”

Ellie pulled her skirt up past her bare ankles, tying the extra fabric into a knot. Gripping one of the hoes, she chopped at the spindly weeds filling the rows between corn plants. Working in silence, they completed a row and started down the next one. Ellie’s back ached. Sweat stung her eyes. She leaned on her hoe for a moment, fanning her face with her hand. In the distance, she noticed a cloud of dust growing larger as it approached the farm.

Dropping the hoe, she ran for the road. “You children keep working,” she called over her shoulder. “I’ll be right back.”

Once Ellie got close enough to see who it was, she wished the corn were high enough to hide her completely. She’d hoped to see Matthew, but Mr. Beldon drove over the plank bridge, his stylish carriage spraying dust as he entered the farmyard. Rooted to the ground, she watched in dismay as he tied his horse to the rail and walked toward her. Dripping with sweat, dress hiked up to reveal dirty bare feet, she’d never felt less like entertaining a visitor, especially one as sophisticated as Mr. Beldon. Ellie felt her face grow hotter than it already was.

“Mr. Beldon,” she squeaked. “I . . . I thought you were someone else.”

He walked toward her as though he greeted damp, dirty women as a natural course of life. “Mrs. Craig.” He bowed slightly. “I apologize for the interruption. I came by to have a talk with your husband.”

“He’s not here.”

“Indeed.” His glance swept over her. “That would be why you are working in the fields?”

“We can’t let the weeds get ahead of the corn.”

Ellie didn’t want to tell him the reason for Matthew’s absence. Grabbing at the knotted fabric of her skirt, she managed to pull the extra length loose and let it drop to cover all but her toes.

Reaching for composure, she said, “I’m sorry you drove all the way out here for nothing. Could I offer you a cool drink before you start back to town?”

“That’s kind of you. Yes, I’d like that.”

She pointed to two caned rockers sitting on the covered porch. “I hope you’ll be comfortable there.”

“Quite comfortable. Thank you.” He followed her up the steps.

“I’ll just be a moment.”

She whisked inside, tugging off her limp sunbonnet as she sped through the kitchen and up the stairs. In front of the pier glass in her bedroom, she ran a comb through her damp hair to smooth back straggling tendrils. After brushing dirt off her feet, she shoved them into leather slippers and hurried back downstairs. Quickly she dipped two cups of water from the crock and arranged them on a tray with a plate of gingerbread cakes she’d been saving for the children’s supper.

Mr. Beldon stood when she emerged, taking the tray from her hands and placing it on a low table between the chairs. “This is very kind of you. I fear I’ve come at an awkward time.”

“Not at all.” She settled herself and picked up a cup of water. Dirt showed under each fingernail. Hastily, she put the cup down and folded her hands in her lap. “Where is Mrs. Beldon?” she asked, more out of politeness than any real interest.

“Unfortunately, she’s plagued with severe rheumatism. She’s having an especially pain-filled day today.”

“I am sorry. Does she mind being left when she’s so ill?”

“I wouldn’t call it ‘ill’ precisely.” He turned, fixing dark-lashed eyes on her face. “In fact, she’d rather be left alone than fussed over.” Mr. Beldon picked up one of the cakes, dwarfing the slice with his broad fingers. Taking a bite, he closed his eyes and smiled. “Delicious. Reminds me of sweets my mother made when I was a boy.”

A pulse pounded in Ellie’s throat. She squeezed her hands between her knees, then drew a deep breath and blurted, “Mr. Beldon, I’m glad you stopped by. I have a favor to ask.”

14

After two days in the saddle, Matthew’s body felt like it had been run over by a hay wagon, reminding him why he’d requested a church assignment following twelve years of riding circuit. The closer he drew to his destination, the more his resolve weakened. If he quit, he’d be running from God just like Jonah did. Tall prairie grass snicked against his boots as the horse followed a narrow track leading to what Matthew hoped was the ten-mile point—a grove of cottonwoods that oriented westbound travelers toward Quincy and the Mississippi River. He began to wonder if requesting a different church would solve things.

His mind shied away from thoughts of Ellie’s reaction to leaving the community where their children were buried, not to mention what she’d say about the prospect of starting anew after they’d worked so hard to build up their farm.

He’d been so absorbed in his thoughts he hadn’t noticed shadows stretching across the rolling prairie. Fingers of dusk had filled in the hollows. Matthew removed his hat and surveyed the grassland, hoping to spy a settler’s cabin nestling nearby where he might seek shelter. Nothing. He wasn’t eager to spend a night in the open with only a shotgun to protect him from prowling wolves.

When he crested the next rise, he spotted a narrow creek winding its way across the landscape. The horse saw it too, and veered toward the water. Upon reaching the sandy bank Matthew slid out of the saddle, still holding the reins.

“Guess this is as good a place to stop as any,” he said to the sturdy Morgan, patting his smoky mane.

After tethering the horse, Matthew removed his bedroll from one saddlebag and spread it about twenty yards from the creek. In the growing darkness he rummaged in the other bag until his fingers found the package of corn cakes and dried venison he’d tossed in for his supper.

He lowered himself to the ground, using his saddle for a back rest, and chewed his makeshift meal. Tilting his head upward he searched for familiar constellations—Little Bear, Hercules, Leo.
I wonder if Ellie remembers when we used to sit together and
count stars?

At first, Matthew thought he was dreaming about the big spring on the hill above his father’s farm. Cool water dripped on his face as though falling from leaves that hung next to the rushing cascade he remembered from childhood. But at the first crack of thunder he sat bolt upright, now fully awake. Streaks of lightning stalked through the blackness.
Samson.
He groped for his boots, then hurried toward the spot where he’d tethered the horse. A flash of lightning lit the area, illuminating the Morgan’s wide, fear-filled eyes.

Matthew reached the trembling animal and laid a gentle hand on his neck. “Whoa now. Settle down.”

Samson shuddered under his touch.

“I’m just going to get my oilskin.” He spoke in a soothing tone as he walked to his saddlebags.

Matthew slipped the waterproof garment over his already damp clothing and stowed his bedroll. The next burst of lightning showed him that the tiny creek had overflowed its banks and now crept toward them. If he stayed where they were, he’d risk getting washed away. But heading for high ground would tempt the lightning. He decided on the high ground.

Samson stamped and circled when Matthew tried to throw the saddle blanket over his back. Gripping the lead rope to hold the head still, he dropped the blanket over the horse. He had to let go of the rope to lift the saddle high enough to place it on Sampson. As soon as he did, the animal sidestepped.

“Blast it, hold still!”

A crackle of lighting flared. Matthew lunged forward and lowered the saddle onto the blanket, then grabbed the front cinch and snugged it around the horse’s belly. After waiting out another flash and boom, he fastened the back cinch and hoisted the saddlebags over his shoulder. Then, keeping a firm grip on the lead rope, he untied it from the stake. Samson pranced and tossed his head, but followed Matthew through the sodden grass to the top of the swale where they would wait out the storm.

Toward daylight the clouds thinned and scudded east. As sunrise flowed over the prairie, Matthew saw he was surrounded by sheets of water. Brooks and rivulets had swollen into roaring torrents. The grass lay flattened on the ground, obliterating the trail he’d followed the previous day. When he stared due west, he saw ragged shapes against the horizon. He tamped down misgivings at the prospect of riding across open prairie with no trail for a guide. While crossing through low places, he’d be out of sight of the grove completely. What if he lost his way?

He put a foot in the stirrup and swung onto the horse, grimacing when he hit the soggy saddle. Turning his back on the sunrise, Matthew rode toward what he hoped was the landmark he sought.

His progress through muddy water and across soft ground took far longer than he’d figured. His stomach growled, reminding him that he’d eaten the last of the venison for supper the night before. Angry at himself for not bringing more food, Matthew kicked a heel into Samson’s side.

“Giddup.”

The horse trotted faster, his hooves splashing fans of mud in every direction. As the sun rose, the cottonwood trees ahead seemed to ascend from the prairie and move toward him.

Encouraged, Matthew settled back in the saddle and allowed his mind to wander to his planned conversation with Elder Meecham. Suddenly the horse stumbled and pitched forward. Before Matthew could grab the saddle horn, he flew over Samson’s head and hit the ground, landing on his right shoulder. For a moment he lay in the mud fighting dizziness, white lights pulsing behind his eyelids. Searing pain tore down his arm and across his chest.

When he tried to stand, his feet slid on the slippery grass and he dropped to his knees in the muck. Drawing as much breath as he could into his lungs, Matthew managed a faint whistle.

“Come here, boy.”

The horse turned his head and looked at him, but didn’t move. He whistled again. “C’mon. Here.”

Samson took a few steps in his direction. By crawling on his knees and using his left arm for balance, Matthew reached the animal’s side and grabbed a stirrup.

He dragged himself upright, gasping as pain wrapped itself around his upper body. Swaying, he waited for a wave of blackness to pass, then shoved his left foot into the stirrup and swung into the saddle.

“Aaah!” Cold sweat prickled his forehead. “God, help me. Give me strength.”

He fought the temptation to rest his head on the horse’s neck and sit without moving. Instead, he urged Samson into a slow walk. Every footfall sent knives through his upper body. He had to hang on.

Sunset had flared across the sky by the time Matthew reached the outskirts of Quincy. With gratitude he noticed a sign proclaiming the whitewashed clapboard building directly in front of him to be a livery stable. Once he passed the livestock pen, Matthew gingerly pulled back on the reins to stop his horse.

“This is as far as you go, Samson.” He patted the animal’s neck. “Now you get your oats.”

A husky man wrapped in a stained leather apron met him at the doorway. “By thunder, if ’n you don’t look done for! What happened to you?”

“Fell off my horse out there past the ten-mile point.”

“And you rode all this way? Gol dang! You’re a tough one.”

Matthew slid off Samson’s back. “Not so tough,” he gasped. “No choice.” He cradled his right elbow in his left hand. “Could you take care of my horse? Rub him down, grain him?” He stopped to catch his breath. “And tell me where I might find Barton Meech–am?” Brown eyes peered at Matthew from behind an explosion of beard. “From the looks of you, I’d best take you to him myself.” He thrust a grimy hand in Matthew’s direction. “Name’s Elijah Dawson. Folks around here call me Eli.”

“Matthew Craig.” He surrendered his left hand to the big man’s grip, wincing as pain shot through him.

“You wait there.” Eli pointed at a bench next to a watering trough. “Soon’s I get your animal stabled I’ll bring a buggy around.”